


Not tonight, Come tomorrow

by rainftw



Series: Married at first sight [3]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, There's a mix here, a little bit of smut, dumb insecurities that almost wrecks the relationship u know, oh and blue balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainftw/pseuds/rainftw
Summary: 3 times Roger feels insecure in their relationship + 1 time where his short fuse somehow fixes it.
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Series: Married at first sight [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855069
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	Not tonight, Come tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> their first fight and their first..............hmmmmmmm, lets see

The first time it had happened, it’d genuinely only been cock-blocking and _annoying_. Not to mention fucking painful.

The phone began ringing as John had brought Roger just to the brink of orgasm for the third time. Roger was transformed into a babbling, incoherent mess and John had _left to go answer the phone_ , leaving Roger squirming with a straining, aching erection against his bare stomach.

“Hello, John speaking.” John said from across the room. “Oh, hi Nigel!”

Roger’s mouth went completely slack, he couldn’t believe it. John was standing on the opposite side of his flat, completely clothed and speaking to some random Nigel while Roger was left sticky and neglected. Something in his gut tugged at being left waiting with such nonchalance, almost like some sick, hot, role-play. Except it wasn’t.

“No you can come tomorrow, that’s not a problem.”

John spoke with such calm and ease Roger couldn’t even dream to possess in that moment. He’d been edged for the past fourty minutes and everything was starting to ache. Sweat collecting in the dip between his collarbones and tummy smeared with pre-cum. His hands were really itching to just take himself in hand and finish the job but his pride told him not to. Told him to wait.

Maybe Roger was into some sick, hot, role-play after all?

“No it’s due next week, we have time.”

Roger was squeezing his eyes shut and taking deep breaths. Listening to John talking to, presumably, a uni classmate, about a project. Not that he had more urgent matters at hand here or anything. In and out, in and out.

He’d counted to ten when he opened his eyes again, glaring daggers at John. Who blew him a fucking kiss, and that wasn’t what boiled the kettle over. What did was that he’d blown Roger a kiss with the hand still coated in Roger’s arousal. Absolutely glistening with it. Nothing could’ve prepared Roger for the excruciating pain that came next.

He cried out into thin air, hands going down to try and relieve the unbelievable pressure and blaring white hot pain. Vaguely, he could hear John try to shush him, but he could barely think straight, let alone shut up. His whole face was heating up and sweat dripped from his forehead, for other reasons now. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into the pillow, groaning loud and long.

If he strained, he could hear John hanging up the phone and getting something from the freezer before finally heading over to Roger’s side.

“Hey.” John nudged his shoulder lightly.

Roger stirred and looked up at him, concern was written all over John’s face, while he knew his own eyes must’ve looked way off and dewy.

“It fucking hurts.” He managed to grit out between heaving breaths, gesturing to his crotch. It was mortifying.

“I figured, here-"

Suddenly there was something extremely cold against his abused testicles and he could barely draw breath. Scrambling for purchase against John’s bicep while trying to pull himself together. Focusing on the skin of John’s arm against his forehead, the soft sheets under him, anything but the pain in his groin.

“It’s alright, Rog.” John spoke evenly.

Roger took a deep breath and managed to sit himself up slightly, relieved to find the pain had subsided immensely. “It’s mortifying, is what it is.” Roger whined, proving his point by looking down at where John was pressing an ice-pack just under where his his cock was laying flaccid against his hip.

John leaned down to press a kiss just above Roger’s eyebrow and chuckled quietly. Pressing the ice-pack in harder just to be a nuisance, and Roger was reminded why he loved him so bloody much. He pecked a wet, smacking kiss upon John’s lips to shut his giggling up for just a second.

“I can’t believe you gave me fucking blue balls.”

—

The second time was _jealousy_ , and Roger wasn’t proud of it.

The show had been good, the buzz lingering beneath Roger’s skin was slowly starting to dissipate. Leaving him positively exhausted as his arms started to ache from an hour straight of vigorous, consecutive drumming. He ran his hands down his leather pants and hissed as the blisters caught against the fabric. Staring at his own reflection in the mirror, finding himself staring back with wide eyes and makeup running down his face. He reached for a makeup wipe, ready to get it all off and even welcoming the small pimple on his chin to show again, if it meant being clean.

He was in the middle of vigorously rubbing his eyes in an attempt to get the mascara off when there were hands on his shoulders and a peck pressed into the crown of his head. He leaned back against John’s ribcage and peeked out from beneath the makeup wipe, catching a glimpse of them both in the mirror. John was freshly showered and was wearing a soft t-shirt and velvet pants, hair still dripping slightly. Roger had mascara beneath and around his eyes and had started to resemble a racoon.

“What a pair we make.” Roger said, locking eyes with John in the dressing room mirror and placing a hand over John’s, still resting on Roger’s shoulder.

“Gorgeous.” John snorted.

Roger let out a quiet laugh and rested his head back against John’s sturdy frame for a second. Because he liked being close to him, and because he was tired.

“This fucking mascara won’t budge.” Roger whined into John’s sternum.

“You should’ve learned makeup wipes are shit by now.” John deadpanned.

Roger stared up at him with puppy eyes, pouting his lower lip as best as he could possibly muster. Because being ridiculous was his forte, and John was slightly prone to fall for his charms either way.

“Fine.” John huffed, making Roger grin all too wide. He knew he still had it in him. “Scoot over then.” John continued, feigning annoyance.

Roger did as he was told and moved to straddle the bench, opposite of John who was doing the same. Shuffling around until they were situated as close as they could get, with their knees touching, which was pretty close considering how surprisingly flexible John was. Roger found himself staring at John as he handed the wipe over, allowing John to try and remove the stubborn product.

John was a lot gentler than Roger was, pressing the wipe against Roger’s eye before dragging it down in zig-zagging motions. Methodical in his approach, like he was to almost everything. Roger found himself relaxing into the motions.

“Open your eyes and look up for me.”

Roger obeyed easily under John’s orders, flinching slightly as John swiped the wipe back and forth under his eyes, slightly too close to his actual eyeball for his comfort.

“Ow.” Roger whined as the wipe started losing his moisture and felt scratchy upon his skin.

“You’re a baby.” John said, swiping under Roger’s eyes a few final times.

Roger stuck his tongue out in response like the mature 21-almost-22 year old he was. John swatted him across the head and tossed the wipe onto the table. Roger was just about to ask John to come home with him when John spoke.

“I have to get going.” He said, moving to get up.

Roger was left puzzled for a second, and slightly hurt, which was unreasonable but feelings were illogical anyways, weren’t they? He could only muster a quiet “Oh.” Not even bothering to hide the disappointment in his tone. Which made John stop in his tracks.

“I’m just gonna see Nigel-“

“Yeah alright.” Roger interrupted him, it wasn’t mature and he shouldn’t have done it. But he did.

“Roger.” John said calmly, staring him down with such intensity Roger almost caved all the way and submitted. Almost caved enough to see how ridiculous he was being. He managed to cave enough to listen. “I need to finish this project, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Roger said, picking at a rip in the palm of his hand.

“Yeah?” John asked, hesitantly.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll see you tomorrow right?” Roger reassured John, though he had a tough time assuring himself.

John had left regretfully, after giving Roger a quick kiss and promising, yet again, that he’d be seeing him tomorrow. Roger had kept his composure and sent him off with a playful slap to the thigh. Things between them were good, they were really good, and that was the problem. That, of all things is what made Roger want to scream until he runs out of breath.

He’d started having these feelings that he’d never had before, for _anyone_. It was indescribable and overpowering anything he’d read in any of the romance novels, and it was incredible. He’d never been addicted to another persons proximity or aching at his very core to just hold their hand but now he was and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

It was terrifying at the same time as it was the easiest thing he’d ever experienced. It was like a gift he didn’t know how to accept.

He’d given it his all, like Roger usually does when his instincts tell him to. He’d given John his all, not because he felt pressured to, but because he completely and utterly _wanted_ to and sometimes that made him feel insecure. Afraid that he was doing too much, asking for too much, that he _was_ too much. That one day John would pack up and leave before they’d even really started this relationship that Roger so desperately wanted to see grow and flourish into something much, much more.

Roger wasn’t much for clichés or thinking of himself as a deep, complicated person. But sometimes he was and sometimes he did.

So yes, he felt insecure in their new not-really-a-relationship-just-yet deal, and he knew that was a natural phenomena but it _didn’t make it any better_. Fuck anyone who told him everyone goes through this.

So maybe he did bite his nails while in the shower later, thinking about how John would rather sit up with _Nigel_ and study than be here, with Roger. Maybe he let a few frustrated tears roll down his reddened cheeks as he tried, desperately, to compartmentalise his thoughts into written words in his journal. Maybe he even gave his pillow a thorough punching simply to feel calm enough to even _try_ to sleep.

Roger didn’t like to admit it, but he felt things very deeply.

He knew this would nag at his mind until he snapped. Simmering somewhere in his subconscious like a pot about to boil over. Which he decidedly did not want to do, not in front of John.

—

The third time it wasn’t about Nigel at all.

“Do you want to come around mine today?” Roger spoke into the phone.

“Today?” John’s voice crackled through the line.

“No, next year.” Roger replied dryly. “Yes _today_ , idiot, what do you say?”

There was some noise through the phone and Roger winced as he drew the phone from his ear quickly at the hiss. “Jesus, what are you doing?”

The line was quiet.

“Hello?” Roger tried again.

He tried about five more times before there was rustling followed by the noise of, what he could only assume, was heavy breathing.

“Sorry, went to check my calendar.” John breathed through the phone, Roger wished he’d been breathing down his neck instead, but that’s a different story.

“And?” Roger asked, hopefully.

He could hear John inhale sharply and prepared himself for the blow. “And.” Here we go, “I need to study, I’m sorry.”

That stung, in a way that was unfair to put on John. Roger wasn’t annoyed with him per say, he really wasn’t. He was annoyed at the principle that they hadn’t seen each other in a while, and he was a tactile person, _and_ he was touch starved by the only person he craved touch from at the minute. It was driving him up the wall.

“That’s alright.” He says, instead of projecting his inner turmoil. “Another day?”

“Another day.” John confirmed, sighing.

They’d hung up and Roger was left alone _again_. And there were many things he could’ve done but just didn’t want to, couldn’t bring himself to. Not when something within him ached to be with John and be with John only, and that certainly wasn’t a good thing. It was bordering on obsessive and he needed to get his priorities and emotions in order. It’s just that when he’s had a taste of something good he keeps craving more and more and more.

So yes, maybe he was moping around for the rest of the day. Maybe he could get some good lyrics out of this one.

He spent his afternoon trying to keep the tears at bay, because he didn’t feel entitled to cry. He felt guilty for crying because John hadn’t done anything wrong and Roger was just being greedy. Crying was to be reserved for when he was upset or overwhelmed and now he just felt lost. Because nothing felt as fun without John there, next to him.

Anger came to him so easily, it was like an old friend that seems to come back to you no matter how hard you try to push them away. The old friend that likes to embarrass you. When in doubt, it was just easier to throw a plate at the wall than to think things through. Or even worse, _talk_ things through.

He’d cried eventually, and it turned out to be a good thing as it released some emotions and allowed him to breathe a little easier.

He was in bed clad in John’s hoodie, which after two months had stopped smelling like him, but the reminder was good enough. After passing out earlier in the day from what he could have only describe as emotional exhaustion, he woke up at midnight. Apparently without impulse control, as he decided to call John.

He waited as the line beeped, chewing on his nails. A couple seconds seemed to stretch on forever before the line eventually gave a hopeful crackle.

“Hello?” John spoke, a bit groggily.

“Hi, It’s me.” Roger spoke into the phone, could feel his face splitting in two at the fond smile he couldn’t fight at hearing John’s voice.

“Rog? Is everything okay? It’s-“

“It’s past midnight, I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He rushed out, suddenly a little embarrassed.

“That’s alright.” John replied calmly.

“Yeah?” Roger’s pulse was pounding hard in his throat as emotions threatened to spill again. What was up with him these days?

“Yes, ´course.”

The line went quiet for a bit. Roger was content just listening to John’s even breaths and knowing he was _there_ , in some sense of the word.

“I miss you.” Roger says eventually. Wincing at how small his own voice sounded.

“It’s only been a couple of days.” John mumbled.

That had stung Roger’s heart like a salt in an open wound. The worst part was that it _had_ only been five days and Roger _did_ miss him a lot. The notion that John didn’t miss him as well made his heart bleed.

“I know, but I miss you.” He tried again.

The line was silent for a few agonising seconds once more, having Roger pondering over whether he was too much, being too overwhelming, for the seventy-third time that day. “Are you drunk?” John’s reply certainly didn’t help.

Roger took a deep breath to calm the impending frustrations, attempting to burrow himself deeper into John’s hoodie. “Can I not just miss you?”

“Of course you can, and I-“ John stopped himself. “I’m flattered.”

Roger could feel his blood pressure elevating, he felt _flattered_. Obviously he didn’t miss Roger too, he wasn’t as needy or as pathetically invested as Roger was. It hurt, in that moment it really hurt.

“You’re flattered?” Roger couldn’t help but to spit out, horrified when it came out sounding as pained as he felt rather than the spiteful he aimed for.

“Rog c’mon I didn’t-“ John paused long enough for Roger to fill that gap, which probably wasn’t a good thing.

“No, it’s alright, I get it.” Roger said, sounding petulant even to his own ears but he couldn’t take it back and he couldn’t reverse his thought process.

“Rog.” John pleaded, Roger awaited the explanation with a heaving chest and a racing heart. “I do miss you.” He said eventually.

Roger went silent, biting his tongue before he blurted out something he’d have to backtrack on. The I love you that was in the front of his mouth was pushed to the back of his throat and into his subconscious more and more with each passing second. Hearing John saying that he misses him soothed over his heart like a hug at the end of a particularly rough day.

Enveloped his heart like coming home to press his face into John’s hoodie like a fool.

“Goodnight Deaky.” He said, even though he’d rather rip his heart out than stop talking to him.

“Night Rog.” John said.

Roger couldn’t help but notice how empty that sentence sounded without the added “I love you” at the end. How perfect it would’ve slotted itself in there. Maybe soon enough. Hopefully.

—

The thing is, it was _always_ good until it wasn’t. Until Roger got his hopes up and wanted more, and John was either oblivious enough to deflect or was simply not interested. Sometimes Roger couldn’t tell, and it terrified him.

A terrified Roger automatically led to an angry Roger, naturally. Because he could handle that, and express himself easily and effectively. Depending on how you define effective.

He didn’t wish for John to be on that side of his own uncontrollable rage though. Never in a million years. Because John was precious to him and he’d never done anything wrong, not really, not _technically_. Probably not even intentionally. But Roger was insecure and John was vague. Had been vague one too many times, apparently. Roger would have done anything to have been able to keep his act together just one more time, but the inevitable was here. Even if it was unwelcome.

That’s how they’d ended up the way they did. With John in Roger’s flat and things having built up to make Roger doubt John’s intentions enough for it to boil over, the way he wished it never would.

“I _like_ you!” Roger yelled, throwing a vase across the room.

John stayed infuriatingly quiet across from him. Running a hand through his hair, making it tousled up and frizzy. Roger was sure he looked the same.

“I thought we liked _each other_.” He continued his ranting, pulling at the collar of his shirt as the room seemed to grow hotter and hotter.

“We do.” John replied assuredly. Tone so calm it drove Roger up the wall.

“Well,” Roger stopped in his tracks, running his hands over his face as he contemplated what to say. Considered kicking his foot into the corner of a table to be able to focus on something other than the blood simmering hot beneath his skin.

“Do go on.” John said, somehow oblivious to how provocative his calm tone was to Roger.

Roger closed his eyes so hard he saw stars in an attempt to calm himself down. To no avail, apparently, if the next words he said were anything to go by. “Well bloody act like it then!” He regretted the words as soon as they were uttered. Or rather, he winced, _yelled_.

“I’m so-“ Roger hurried to apologise, stepping forward into John’s space.

“Don’t bother.” John said curtly and shrugged Roger’s hand off his shoulder. Storming off to the bedroom and slamming the door shut.

The bang of the door still reverberates through Roger’s skull twenty minutes later.

The utter nonchalance in how he shrugged Roger’s hand off his shoulder. Denied Roger the chance to explain himself. To apologise. To make things alright. Because it wasn’t what he meant, not really.

_“Don’t bother.”_

Roger felt an overwhelming urge to rip his hair straight out of his scalp. Crunch the shards of the vase between his hands as he was dutifully cleaning it up. Throw something out the bloody window. He’d do _anything_ to relieve the pent up anger in his system.

He opted for kicking the edge of the table with his sock-clad foot. Hissing as pain shot up his whole leg. Bright hot and sharp. Stinging his entire nerve. The tightness in his chest seemed to loosen for a moment. He could breathe a sigh of relief, brain clearing up. If only for a few seconds.

Eventually the pain subsided and he was brought back to the present, regretfully. The closed bedroom door glaring at him from across the room.

Leaving Roger feeling even colder than when John had abandoned him for university lectures. Alone with thoughts of _surely_ they could talk this out. He could apologise. They could fix this.

The bright red, blood-boiling anger started to subside. Leaving Roger exhausted as he picked the last shard off the floor.

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, closing his eyes and taking a much needed deep breath. He glanced over at the closed door and found it wasn’t glaring at him quite as much anymore. Didn’t make his blood boil over.

So he dared. Went over and knocked on the wooden frame.

The wooden doorframe to his own damned room that John fit so infuriatingly well into. Had started his own set of drawers next to Roger’s bed.

“Come in.” John’s voice sounded muffled through the walls. Relief flooded Roger’s veins.

He tentatively opened the door, eyes instantly drawn to the big lump of a boy’s body beneath the covers. He was facing away from Roger, towards the window. The blinds were drawn. The room dark aside from the light coming in from the ajar door.

Roger heard a slight sniffle and before he knew it all remnants of anger were gone. Face relaxing as the frown he didn’t know he had been sporting went away. He moved towards the bed and shyly wrapped an arm around John’s blanket covered middle, testing the waters. Scared to be rejected.

John sighed wetly and pressed himself into Roger’s body.

Roger tightened his grip. Pressing John’s back close to his chest.

“Deaky,” He whispered into John’s hair.

John hummed. Nodded against Roger’s arm that had found its way beneath John’s head.

“I really am sorry,” He twirled a strand of John’s hair around his fingers. “About all of it.”

“It’s alright.” John took ahold of Roger’s forearm that was slung across his middle. Slid his hand down until it met Roger’s own and kissed it gently. Before hugging it close to his chest. “I accept your apology.”

Roger breathed a sigh of relief. “I feel really bad. I never should have said that - that you never show me you like me.” He continued, thinking about how he’d let Roger touch him when no one else had, about their easy flirting and the _obvious_ blooming relationship between them.

“That’s alright.” John reassured again.

The room fell silent. The sound of their breaths the loudest thing in the room. Roger felt sated now, though. Didn’t need a distraction now, when his mind was no longer buzzing with unsolved silly insecurities. He breathed in the scent of John’s shampoo and tuned in to the steady, albeit quick, heartbeat against his palm.

“Roger?” John almost whispered.

Roger hummed and nuzzled his face further into John’s neck.

“I’m sorry too.” He murmured.

Roger didn’t know if he was meant to accept it or deny that there was anything for John to be sorry for at all.

“Sometimes it just feels too good to be true you know?” John continued, turning around in Roger’s arms.

“What do you mean?” Roger asked, puzzled.

“Like if I acknowledge this _thing_ , it’ll just vanish or-“ He cast his gaze down, suddenly looking way too shy. “If _this_ becomes _real_ it could, it could-“

“End?” Roger finished for him. John nodded softly, as Roger’s heart swelled beyond belief.

“Yes.” John said, simply. “It scares me.”

Roger placed a sure hand beneath John’s chin and tilted his head up. They were face to face now. John’s eyes were still red-rimmed and shiny. But he was smiling. An uncertain, almost melancholic kind of smile. Mourning a relationship that was not yet defined. Something in Roger’s chest ached, a warm blooming sort of pain.

“I’m not scared.” Roger whispered.

John’s eyes seemed to glisten at that, Roger hoped it was some sort of happy tears. Or maybe tears of relief. He sure knew he’d shed some of those into John’s hair not a couple of minutes ago.

“No?” John asked, and his voice was uncharacteristically small and high. For someone as quiet as John, he was rarely unsure. Roger reached out to pull him closer.

“Not at all.” Roger confirmed, holding John’s face in his hands. “I love you, you know.”

John’s face seemed to soften, his body relaxing completely as he slumped against Roger’s side. Nuzzling his face deep into Roger’s throat and gripping his waist as tightly as Roger was now gripping John’s.

“I love you too.” He mumbled.

Roger couldn’t quite tell if the shiver running down his spine was from the words or from how John’s breath had tickled his skin. Either way, John was the cause, and Roger loved it.

“That’s enough isn’t it?” Roger whispered into the top of John’s head.

John nodded and placed a kiss upon where Roger’s collarbone was peeking through his shirt. Then on his chin and finally on his lips. Solid and secure, a perfect groundwork for an emotional and chaotic Roger to lean against.

“It is.” John replied.

With John in his arms, Roger didn’t know how he could’ve ever doubted them.

**Author's Note:**

> of course their first "i love you's" came after an argument.
> 
> i cant make either of them be intentionally mean no matter how much i try in this verse, so the catalyst for their fight is obviously roger's insecurities and john's carefulness clashing. idiots. imagine if they could just be rational.


End file.
